


To Halloween, with Pride

by neolith



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Halloween, Introvert Shepard, M/M, Pride, Tagged Alcohol because Shepard accidentally drinks too much just one time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neolith/pseuds/neolith
Summary: Shepard is more single than he'd like to be, and might need some assistance in changing that.





	To Halloween, with Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bioticfox (ayambik)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayambik/gifts).



Some people were in the closet, and some people were just isolated. Shepard had always known he was attracted to men, never felt any shame for it. He just never had anyone to share the experience with. While he knew in theory that there were places to go to break out of his bubble, he remained in his safe little space all the way through his teens. Hitting the early twenties, he tried Grindr, but found it not for him.

At age twenty-three he attended his first Pride.

In retrospect, going alone for the biggest celebration in the country had been too much a crash course, and he ended up not joining the parade as intended. Standing in the sidelines, seeing cluster upon cluster of overtly queer individuals, decked out to the max with rainbows and glitter, Shepard’s isolation became more poignant than ever.

He didn’t stay for the whole thing, but he also didn’t throw in the towel. There was a second chance that evening, in a plethora of gay clubs to choose from. Learning from his mistakes, he carefully selected the most bland sounding venue, something he believed could ease him into it, and set out.

As everything else in this whole venture, it proved another task underestimated. The thing about Shepard was that as much as he was determined once he set his mind on something, he was also an extreme introvert that easily got overwhelmed with even the smallest ounce of awkward. Arriving early before the vast majority of club goers, meeting nothing but islands of pre-established groups, the awkward hit home like a sledgehammer. He handled it in the manner that most young men his age at a bar would  - poorly and with the deceitful aid of liquid courage.

An hour and four-five drinks later, he found himself enjoying the dancefloor, feeling like he’d finally hit that jackpot he’d hoped for. Eyes that had seemed to judge now seemed to appreciate, and he could revel instead of cringe in his silly little shuffle that he passed for dancing. He was lonely still, not quite making the connections, but the bubble shattered around him, making him feel like a butterfly emerging from his cocoon.

Then the alcohol caught up, clogging his neurons like rush hour traffic on a Friday afternoon. His otherwise impressive reaction time came to a crawl, barely registering that his bearings were off by the time his head had already connected with the edge of a table. What followed got mangled in a concussed blur, but Shepard’s brain knew how to prioritize its fraction of preserved function.

The clearest memory of the whole, embarrassing ordeal was a pair of kind and amber eyes, an exasperated smile on an unrealistically handsome face and firm, but gentle hands. The man had a slight scruff of facial hair going, contrasting nicely against his olive skin and the hair had some product in it, keeping it obnoxiously neat. Shepard had not thought neat to be a thing he particularly cared for, but as of this moment he certainly found himself enchanted by neatness. He wanted to ask the man to dinner, the movies - heck, Shepard would be willing to attend a knitting course if that was what it took to get a chance with this man!  

Perched on the curb with blood making patterns across his face was not an ideal scenario for wooing a stranger however, even if the stranger in question was kind enough to sit with him, reliably holding the compress covering the cut in Shepard’s hairline. The fact that the man was dressed in security guard uniform only made coming on to him all the more ill-advised.

So Shepard babbled, about anything that he could think of that did not tangent on date plans. There was a sobering voice screaming at the back of his head that he was only making things worse, but once he got started, he did not know how to stop. The awkwardness was skyrocketing through his inebriation as he kept digging himself deeper into a pit of humiliation. To his horror he realized he was talking politics. In panic, he glanced back to the other man and found him smiling. It stopped Shepard dead in his tracks, mid sentence.  

“Uh-oh,” Shepard whispered - a premonition rather than a reaction. The man across him was still amused (still handsome), a full, defined brow quirked in some sort of unvoiced comment.

“Uh-oh?” the man mirrored, his voice as pleasant as his face.

A day later Shepard concluded he shouldn’t be allowed to talk when drunk, but sadly he couldn’t send that memo back in time, before his mouth went ahead and did its own thing.

“I don’t know if you know, but you are… unfathomably handsome.”

Shepard had yet to decide whether the resulting laugh was a blessing or just made the whole situation far worse when a car rolled up next to them. People talked over his head and he was herded inside. Too late, strapped up and vehicle rolling, did he realize the biggest error of them all - never asking for a name.

 

**_3 MONTHS LATER_ **

“That’s why I’m going with you,” Ashley said, dumping yet another article into their cart. She had some plan that Shepard wasn’t privy to. Looking over the pile, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what to make of it, but she’d helped Traynor make a fantastic electric toothbrush costume for Halloween last year, so he trusted she knew what she was doing. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder at the huge collection of white fabric remnants, especially considering how she’d snickered loading them into the cart.

“I don’t need a wingman,” Shepard protested, to which Ashley at least conceded.

“No, but you need an anchor. Someone to keep you from bolting - or worse, drinking!”

“It was one time! Trust me, I learned that lesson well and truly.”

Ashley was a great friend, but she also had no qualms at getting a good laugh at his expense.

“For sure. Got banged right into your head, didn’t it?”

She was still laughing when Shepard hurled a massive package of wadding at her (another mystery item from the cart).

 

**_A WEEK LATER_ **

Ashley was still laughing. Shepard glared into the mirror as she ran circles around him, wrapping him up like a mummy in strips of white. While he had asked that she consider making a costume that would cover his still healing scar, this wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind. He’d meant something like a hat, or maybe a hood - not to look like a burn victim.

“Don’t worry!” Ashley said. “I’ve wrapped your bum tight enough for people to appreciate your assets.”

Face met palms as Shepard groaned. Ever since his pride fiasco, Ashley had made it her personal mission to get him set up with another guy. Shepard had only found out this morning that the Halloween party was a part in that plan. How his mummification played in he had yet to understand, but Ashley insisted it was a stroke of genius on her part, and that he’d appreciate it in time.

“My ass looks dead.”

Ashley’s laughter escalated into undignified snorts.

 

**_HOURS LATER or WHERE TIME SORT OF STOPPED_ **

Steve’s apartment was pleasant and spacious the way it could only be when you had a partner to split the bills with. Shepard had met the man and his husband once before,but Ashley knew them well enough to have snagged an invite for them both. Most of the other people there however were strangers to them both. As they mingled into the crowd, Shepard felt the worm of awkwardness start twitching in his gut, his instinct to bolt steadily growing. Ashley must’ve known he was entertaining the idea of leaving, because she hooked her arms with his, anchoring him to the spot. To cope, Shepard spaced out, let her do the talking and daydreamed about his unfinished space ship model kit at home. He only reemerged from his thoughts when Ashley elicited an excited squeal.

“Target spotted!”

Shepard was about to follow her line of sight, when she stopped him, slapping steady hands on his shoulders the way she did when she wanted to drive home some important point.

“He’s a paramedics student, single, definitely bi, his name is Kaidan and I have it on good authority that he is just your type.”

Shepard was just about to protest that he did not have a type when Ashley shoved him in front of a man - THE man, as in his handsome security guard from the club. Shepard’s whole skin lit up like a bonfire, burning an undeniable shade of read and he rapidly cycled through a mix of emotions, ranging from elation to dread.

“I should go.”

Ashley must’ve predicted his flight instincts kicking in, because by the time he tried to turn and run, she’d already closed a door behind him, leaving him nowhere to turn but forward. Slowly spinning back around, he found the man, Kaidan, still there, waiting with that same exasperated smile.

“I remember you,” Kaidan said. Shepard cringed.

“I’d rather hoped you wouldn’t.”

An awkward pause followed, one of those that Shepard was so bad at handling, and he felt it all the way out into the tips of his toes and fingers. There was some other quality to how their eyes met, something electric and exciting, until Kaidan broke contact, looking up to the spot where Shepard’s cut was covered in fake bandages.

“How’s the head?” he asked, and then: “Mind if I take a look?”

Kaidan slowly, but gently unwrapped the strips of fabric from his head, the moment potently intimate for two people who were still essentially strangers. They clearly had chemistry and it made Shepard’s mouth dry up, holding his breath until the mock bandages came undone. Kaidan’s touch was as magical as he remembered it, in no way exaggerated by his inebriation the first time around. It was however gentler now, skirting around the scar and Shepard could even feel his breath against his forehead. They were standing that close. When Kaidan complimented whoever had done his stitches, the words were barely a whisper.

As if cursed to be an embarrassment, Shepard suddenly ruined the moment by choking on his own spit. Hacking away and wheezing to get his breath back, it seemed that he wasn’t entirely out of luck however, because Kaidan stuck around, keeping a hand on him, firmly rubbing his back until he could breathe again without pain. Kaidan even moved them over to a couch, sitting down so close that their thighs touched.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s John.”

From there, Shepard stopped counting the hours, stopped longing to get home to his models and away from all the people. When Ashley caught a glimpse of the two men some time later, still on the couch, she grinned smugly. Shepard was clearly back in a bubble, but he was no longer alone in it.


End file.
